


crack

by Blistering_Typhoons



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alcoholic Dean Winchester, Canon-Typical Violence, Drabble, Gen, Guilt, Guilty Dean Winchester, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Mark of Cain (Supernatural), Season/Series 10, The Impala (Supernatural), Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-29
Updated: 2020-07-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:41:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25595947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blistering_Typhoons/pseuds/Blistering_Typhoons
Summary: His chest doesn't feel empty, if anything it feels fuller- more alive, hungry and aching.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester
Comments: 4
Kudos: 9





	crack

**Author's Note:**

> This is the result of a rather stupid story that involves bad graphic design and me cackling my butt off at three am.
> 
> Of course, I wasn't laughing at this- but I hope you enjoy anyways!

The mark pulses with almost every ragged breath Dean seems to take, thrumming under the irritated and raised skin. His palms twitch for the First Blade everytime he's annoyed, eyes pooling into mirthless black at some unfortunate who _fucking dare spill his drink_.

His chest doesn't feel empty, if anything it feels fuller- more alive, hungry and aching. 

And oh, he aches for so many things.

To run the Blade through thin, mortal neck and trace the blood as it gushes down and sprays hotly on his face. He wants to smell decayed copper in his brain, inhale the aroma of torture and sweat.

He aches for blue eyes and a voice like thick, cluttered tar- oozing down his neck. He aches to have them blown wide with fear and pleasure, watch them as they drown in all the things he wouldn't otherwise be capable of without the hideous welt on his arm. He just wants to wrap his disgusting, tattered wings around broken light and leech until there's nothing left but cosmic ash and consuming satisfaction.

_He wants to go home_.

He wants to drink coffee at five in the morning, bitching with Sam about almost everything they encounter on the road. He wants the old days back, when they had an earthly monster every week and all was well. He wants to bring Castiel along, wants his help and watch as the Angel pulverizes any poor son of a bitch that so much as breathes at them wrong.

But mostly he aches for a key to unhinge the jaw locked in a sadistic smile, oil it back into horrified grief and guilt. He wants to crumple onto the floor and cry until there's nothing left, nothing but numb emptiness and shattered longing. He wants to cradle himself in the back of Baby and _fucking sleep_ for once, just close his eyes and allow the nightmares to sweep him away.

He wants to embrace the dark again, not become it.

He watches with a small smirk at the stuttered gasps hacked from a severed throat, white eyes tearing and rolled into a mangled skull. Satisfaction ebbs through his sensitive bones, creaking with the will to scoop the lifeless body and dump it with the rest of the trash.

Of course, it's too late anyways.

**Author's Note:**

> My tumblr is _blistering-typhoons_ if anybody wishes to pay a visit!
> 
> Feedback appreciated, but have a lovely day either way :D


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